Another Side of You
by LionHearted35
Summary: AU. Harry/Draco. Harry & Draco's lives are at a standstill. Both are unsure of where their paths lead & how to move on. A chance reunion makes them start to look at their lives from another point of view, and realize what they want most - each other.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: **All characters, spells, magical places, creatures etc. belong to JK Rowling. Her brain works in wonderful and mysteries ways, and I could never come up with anything half as brilliant as her creations. Harry's POV.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE<strong>

The smell of garbage was making him sick.

As he made the smooth transfer in the dark seclusion of the alleyway - quickly, press the money in the dealers palm, slip the offered drugs into his coat sleeve, walk away and don't look back - he could see the flies circling and buzzing around the large garbage bin beside him. Harry shifted from right foot to left, as the dealer counted the money and gave a small nod. As he left the alleyway, the dealer long gone before him, rain started to fall on the London streets - first gently and then harder, the pressure of each raindrop slapping against his thin hooded coat. He made a stop in the closest 24-hour shop, the rain now so persistent he needed to wait somewhere dry until he made the rest of his way home. He took a seat and shook out his wet, messy hair, and looked back on what his life had turned into.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

None of it was. The triumphant success of the light-side during the War at Hogwarts was supposed to bring...more than this. Days before he came face to face with Voldemort, during the long restless nights spent searching for Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione, he had dreamt of that day. Dreamt of cheers and happiness, of the weight of the world finally lifted from his shoulders after so many years. As much as the climax of the war terrified him, his fears had also brought hope for a second chance at his life. A way to put the past in the past and live his life as fully and as completely as he could, with the people he loved and the knowledge he'd gained. But it didn't work out the way he had hoped, and sitting in that store today, he began to wonder how he ever could've thought something would work in his favor for once.

The day of his duel with Voldemort was not met with sure thoughts and signs of hope. It did not end with clear skies and chants of Harry's name. It ended dark and damp, rainfall harder than the one today, with several more deaths than he could've imagined. And the deaths were what stuck with him most. When he got up from that battlefield his first thought was to find Luna, to take her into his arms and feel her heartbeat pressed against his, because they had both made it - they had both survived. But when his hand reached for hers, she shifted away. The months spent apart during the build-up to the war had been hard on both of them, and now, for her at least, the feelings were gone. It took them mere weeks before they finally called it off. His weeks after the war were not spent with another living life as best he could, but spent tired and alone. Watching Ron and Hermione at their wedding - the perfect couple starting what could only be a perfect life - somehow made the wound of his freshly broken heart cut deeper. Standing there beside Ron as his Best Man was bittersweet at best, and he left the wedding as quickly as he'd arrived to it.

'You're a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose everything.' Harry hung his head in his hands, remembering Voldemort's words so many years ago. He couldn't help but feel like a fool - for expecting something good, for being optimistic.

Of course, Harry had his good days early after the war ended. He would spend days with Ron and Hermione at their small home just outside Ottery St. Catchpole, talking about the old days at school, news about old friends, Hermione's workload and Ron's grueling training during the off-seasons for Quidditch – sometimes they just sat there and basked in the silence, none of them needing to speak a word because everything had already been said. Other times they would talk about Ginny and her travels with Dean around the world, leaning about the history of each country and experiencing the food and the people, the sights and sounds of each new place, fully embracing their new found wanderlust during their year-long honeymoon. Or about Arthur and Molly and their constant nagging to Ron and Hermione about grand-children, Mrs. Weasley even going so far as to take some of the muggle pamphlets 'found' in London - about child-birth and baby names and a reference list of books every new mother should buy when they're expecting - and slip them in Hermione's bag while she excused herself to go to the washroom, Hermione told Harry once, laughing. Sometimes during Harry's visits they would receive a letter from Neville asking how they were and keeping them updated on the goings-on at Hogwarts and how his Herbology students were doing in class. They always found a way to steer clear of topics that could lead to Luna, who was now married to some boy who's name Harry couldn't remember, and had gained some fame in the wizarding world on her book about Wrackspurts and Gnargles and every other creature Harry remembered her talking to him about sometimes, back when they were together.

After the war, there had been some celebrations and cheers, but they left as quickly as they had come; it seemed people wanted to forget and move on as quickly as possible - they wanted to get started on pretending the war had never happened at all. Many days back then Harry found himself happy, but soon the happiness turned into longing, for someone to be with or something to do. He felt so…_empty_ now. But his emptiness and longing was quickly replaced with guilt – for the lives lost, for feeling as if he shouldn't get to feel happy, or content, or anything really, because those people were dead and gone and the public wanted to forget, and forgetting meant forgetting those who gave their lives for that war. The guilt ate away at him, gnawed at his insides, so sharp and persistent that some days he felt as if he didn't even want to get out of bed, as if he couldn't. Then the guilt had formed its way into everything horrible all at once – depression, frustration, anger, misplacement, tiredness, bitterness. He started visiting Ron and Hermione less and less, and when they caught on and started calling him instead, he made sure not to answer the phone. He wanted to distance himself from their happiness. He began to feel like there needed to be a clear and decisive line between Harry and the rest of the world – because he didn't belong there anymore. _What meaning did his life have now_? Everyone had moved on, but he was still stuck there on that battlefield, blood on his hands and dirty all over, at a loss of what to do next. Of how to take the next step. He would gladly take one hundred cruciatus over this feeling. It was worse than the dementors, worse than even death itself. This feeling of being trapped inside of himself, with no sure way out, was by far the lowest and the darkest he had ever been.

Outside, the rain slowed and then finally stopped. Harry quickly got up and moved swiftly out of the small shop, as if trying to run from the thoughts eating away at him. He kept his head down during his journey, avoiding the large puddles on the road and eye-contact with passers-by. Once several weeks ago he had been walking down this very street on a day much sunnier than this one, when a stranger suddenly stopped in front of him. Harry dodged left but the stranger went in the same direction, and the same result happened when Harry tried to dodge right. They did this awkward dance on the sidewalk for a few seconds until Harry grew exasperated and said "_YES_?" only to be met with the timid response "_You're Harry Potter, aren't you_?"

Harry took a good look at the stranger now – a teenage boy in baggy jeans clutching a skateboard, staring up in awe at Harry. "Erm…n-"Harry was about to try and say no, you're mistaken, I'm not who you think – but was rudely interrupted by the eager boy.

"You _are_, aren't you? _Wow_, I can't believe – that's _amazing_ I mean , here I am walking down the street and I look up and there you are coming at me this is _so_ coo- I've got a tattoo on you, do you know that? Look!" and without hesitation the boy dropped his forgotten skateboard on the sidewalk and yanked up his pant leg, to reveal a small lightning bolt tattoo made to look like a scar on his right ankle. The boy looked up at Harry happily, waiting for Harry's opinion.

Harry didn't know what to say. He felt awkward and this kid was showing him his ankle with a tattoo of his 'infamous' scar. He tried to quickly think of a response.

"It looks like…a real scar. That's nice, I guess…I've got to be going, somewhere important I need to be, but erm...I…It was nice meeting you." And before the kid could form a response or, Merlin forbid, expose another body part to Harry in the middle of the street, he veered past him, walking twice as fast to get home, while trying in vain to figure out what just happened.

Harry gave a small chuckle upon remembering that day, and how he told himself that he'd wear a hood from now on and be glad there wasn't more pedestrians on the street that day, lest that boy cause a scene – the very last thing Harry wanted was to be poked and prodded by the public, mere blocks away from his flat. He grimaced to think of what would happen if they found out where he lived. _That certainly would not end well _Harry thought to himself, walking even faster and closing his coat more tightly around him as the wind picked up and grew more fierce during the night.

Eventually, he reached his building - small, dark and practically dilapidated, it would've been easy to overlook. Harry walked into his flat on the first floor, which ironically was about as large as his cupboard under the stairs, his home so long ago.

It was a tiny bachelor apartment, and to call it a bachelor would be a compliment on the small room. There was only enough space for a bed, placed against the back wall, the small window next to it casting patterned shadows on the bed sheets. Harry somehow managed to squeeze in a medium-length, short bookshelf just beside the front door, which he used as a make-shift dresser, his shirts and pants stuffed in the different sections, loose change and empty pill bottles scattered along the surface. All of his remaining belongings were on the floor next to the bed – folded up bills of money, a broken wand, the clothes he had worn the day before, a candle, a matchbox and an old worn-down watch. A small door on the far right wall of the room led to a tiny bathroom, which had nothing in it apart from the toilet, the sink and a rusted small tub with no shower curtain. His toothbrush lay teetering on the edge of the sink, a tube of toothpaste standing beside it. The paint on the walls of his flat was a dull, pale blue, which was peeling away in several places. He cast a glance around his flat and threw his keys in the general direction of his make-shift dresser, the sound of the jingling keys letting him know they wound up on the floor instead. He saw down on his tiny bed and sighed. His dark thoughts were slowly catching up with him again. He started to think again about Voldemort, and that battle, and Dumbledore. "What would Dumbledore say to me now?" he asked himself aloud, running a hand through his unmanageable hair.

"_These times are hard, but fear not Harry. Light is on the way." _he mumbled to himself, imitating Albus. He frowned. "Fear not. More like fear _always..._There was never any 'Light' or 'Dark', was there?" Harry whispered to himself, letting out a quiet half-hearted laugh. _'Just people fighting for something much bigger than themselves. Confused...lost...dead. Was this was I fought for? _Harry wondered. _To feel like this every day, to want everything and nothing at all? To ask myself these questions with only my thoughts to answer them? What was the __**point?' **_He thought. Then Harry suddenly had a moment, a sudden desperateness that ate him out alive and put him back together again. It was a thought so small, but so large, and also one that he knew he'd been thinking since this all ended. It made no sense to him that he would want this, after everything he was feeling now, after all of his frustrations and depression, after this dull pounding of his heartbeat, once so strong and loud and positive, was now something he used to count the minutes and hours and days until...

It made no sense and made all the sense in the world to him, all at the same time. He sat there, took this moment in, let it take over him.

He thought '_I wish I could relive it all again.'_

Throughout all his years at Hogwarts, Harry did not know how to process and properly and completely embrace his fame and celebrity. Even towards the end, when he, Ron and Hermione were busy trying to save the world by themselves, searching for Horcruxes, throughout all that growth within himself over the years, this was the one thing he never truly accepted about himself. Being a child of abuse and abandonment made it hard to wake up one day and discover that you are loved by such a vast amount of people that have never seen or spoken to you before. But although he still didn't fully_embrace_ his fame, there were times when he _enjoyed_ it. Years of being left alone in that dark cupboard with nothing but spiders and toy chess pieces to keep him company, or out in public being cast-off, ignored and left behind by his 'family' had caught up with him. There were even times when he relished in the knowledge of everyone knowing his name, his past, his present, predicting his future. Those years at Hogwarts, some moments were so _dear_ to him because he felt like he belonged somewhere, that he was accepted and sometimes even understood. Ron and Hermione had a lot to do with that of course, but it was all his classmates on a whole. Even Malfoy, with his cutting words that still leave wounds to this very day, added to that feeling, because it gave him attention, and it was essentially someone taking the time to notice him, however negative. He would do it all over again, and again and again. Just to get that feeling back. To get _any_feeling back. He might even go so far as to say that, if he knew then what he knew now, he would spend the rest of his days with Ron and Hermione, traveling and searching for horcruxes, searching for themselves, and whatever else they want to go looking for, and just...never go back. A true solitude with his friends, without any pressure to kill and destroy and seek out a means to successfully do so.

But things were the way they were now. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Harry took the drugs out of his sleeve from earlier that night - high dosage amphetamines and sleeping pills. He took twice the suggested amount of each and lay down fully clothed over the covers, the bed groaning in protest of his weight on the springs, and stared up at the cobwebbed ceiling of his apartment. He listened to the noise of the cars and the sounds of the people outside as the pills began to take their affect, and just as his vision started to blur and his heart rate picked up, as his eyes began to get heavy, he couldn't help feeling as if he was in the same place as he was when he was a boy of eleven - alone, lonely and hopeless, locked in his cupboard under the stairs.

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><p><strong>AUTHORS NOTE: <strong>So there it is! My first ever chapter of any fanfiction/story ever! Was it good? Bad? Truth be honest! Leave a review so I know what to work on, it'd be greatly appreciated :) Chapter 2 will be much longer, and should be up soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco opened his eyes to darkness and the sounds of thunder and lightning.

His room was cast with shadows, and the faint noise of the radio from his bathroom could be heard. Draco used the occaisional flashes from the lightning to help adjust his eyes to the darkness, and slowly sat up in bed. He looked around the room, searching for something. A lounging chair sat propped up against the wall across his bed, a tall mirror placed between it and the large french windows, revealing the grey night sky and flashes of blue light followed by the loud cracks of thunder. Several unlit candles were placed strategically across the surface of a black marble dresser sitting against the east wall of his bedroom, notebooks stacked in order of oldest to most recent, along with classic works of literature held up by gold bookends shapes like serpents. A bookshelf with works of well-known authors on everything from world history to greek mythology and spellbooks specializing on the rise and fall of the dark arts nearly covered the entire west wall, had there not been two elaborate doors leading to other rooms on either side of it.

Draco's eyes finally found what he war looking for, and so he moved quickly and quietly across the room to his dresser, where he picked up his phone. He turned it on and read with frustration the 'no missed calls' mesage typed across the small screen.

"Where the hell _is she."_ he whispered to himself, frowning. A particularly loud roll and crack of thunder followed his question, and he jumped, nearly dropping his cell phone. He took a breath and threw the phone on his bed, walking across the room and through the door on his left - the bathroom. He took a quick shower and stepped out of the bath towel-less, out of the bathroom and past the bookshelf through the next door. He turned on the light to reveal his extravagant closet, and was about to pick out clothes when a sudden 'pop!' starled him.

"_What the fuck-?" _Draco growled. He whirled around to find Paryl, his house-elf, standing in the doorway with his tiny hands covering his large eyes.

"Begging your pardons sir, but you said to come back to Master Malfoy as soon as he was back from his trip sir! I'm sorry sir, I is not looking sir, I-"

"Shut _up _with your apologies, did you find them?" Draco interrupted, looking down at Paryl expectantly.

Eyes still tightly covered, Paryl replied "I...sir...I tried everywhere Master Malfoy instructed, but I is not finding them sir! I looked and looked, and I looked again to be sure sir, but nothing! Master Malfoy, there has been no sight of them...does Master Mal-"

"That's quite enough, Paryl. If I need you to look somewhere else I'll tell you. You're dismissed." Draco snapped, and turned away before Paryl could even respond. He heard another loud 'pop!' behind him, and was met with silence again.

Draco stood there for a moment, frustrated and, more importantly, worried. He then tried to collect his thoughts and think of other options - of other places to look. When nothing came to him, his frustration turned to anger, and he stomped over to the neatly hung pants and shoved a pair of black trousers on, went to the shirts and threw on a beige button-down, found shoes and a watch, grabbed his phone and an umbrella and disapparated from Malfoy Manor.

He ended up in Downtown London, the sudden noise of people and traffic near defeaning after the quiet seclusion of his bedroom. Realizing that the storm had already passed through central London, Draco closed his umbrella and headed west towards a set of tall buildings. He passed them, walking further and further until an hour had passed. He reached an old apartment complex and walked, not towards the entrance of the nearest building, but beside it, walking along the side of the buildings tall brick wall - an alleyway that led to the back streets and the garbage pick-up. He casually strode up behind what appeared to be a young girl in very little clothing and sky-high heels and simply watched her for a long moment as she teettered on the sidewalk.

From his viewpoint she looked freezing cold. Her body gave visible shivers every now and again, and the girl would occaisionally wrap her arms around her sides, rubbing her arms lightly, almost as if she were hugging herself. Her legs were covered in raised bruises that could be visible from her fishnet stockings - large splotches here and there of black on blue on green. She was wearing a sheer button-down shirt as a dress, but it only reached half-way past her behind. Her dirty hair was cut in a short bob dyed bright blood red, with several pieces of fake jewellery covering her arms and neck. Draco looked her up and down, sighed and snuck up close behind her. He leaned slowly towards her right ear and whispered "Pansy. You _must_ stop this."

Pansy Parkinson jumped about five feet in the air from shock, a feat Draco dubbed as outstanding as he considered how tall her stilletos were.

"_Draco, _what - oh my _God _- what the FUCK, d-don't _DO _that!" Pansy screamed at him, stumbling over her words and her feet. She glared at him. "Why are you here?" she screeched. "I _told you, _I don't need you God-DAMN help, now go the FUCK _away - _I'm losing customers!" She whirled back around to the street in front of her, attempting to strut off, but stumbling on her first step. Draco shook his head. He couldn't believe Pansy had stopped this low just to prove a point. Then again, he should've expected nothing less - she was still as stubborn as she was back in school.

When the war ended, so did the life Draco was accustomed to. He and his father along with his mother had left the scene as quickly as possible, but in the end it didn't make all that much of a difference. They had mere weeks of solitude to share together as a family before the aurors came to look for them - for his father. They had taken as many belongings as they could to a small hide away house on the country side in Northern England. At first, Draco was beside himself with anger and shock over the small quarters, Voldemorts fall and Snape's death. He didn't know how to deal with and accept so many changes in one go - couldn't quite grasp that _this _was their life now. They couldn't go back to the Manor - it was the first place the ministry would look for Lucius, and they had vowed never to be separated again, so they fell upon a plan to stay by the countryside for as long as it would take until it was all over. What exactly 'it' was, Draco wasn't sure. The chase? Their fear? Their lives? Draco highly doubted the ministry would ever suddenly stop looking for them; he knew how high of a status Lucius was in the Death Eater ranks, before the Dark Lord made a fool out of him. But the ministry wasn't aware of Lucius' fall from popularity, and he had aided and abbeded in the murder of so many people, something Draco never wanted to think about, that they contuined to search for him. So there they sat and waited out the rest of their lives, and after a week of hard thinking, of trying for once to view the cup as half-full instead of half-empty, Draco had grown used to the idea of spending the rest of his days here with his family.

But it didn't last nearly as long as they had hoped. It didn't even last a month.

Someone within Lucius' close group of 'so-called' allies, had let slip to the ministry their possible whereabouts in exchange of a clean record and a life of freedom. What little wards they had placed on their small home to inform them of intruders went off in the dead of the night, a mere two and a half weeks into their new life. Draco watched with tired eyes as Lucius and Narcissa yet again packed away their lives, when he realized the possesions they were packing away included none of his belongings.

"Draco," he father whispered urgently to him, taking time away from his impromptu packing to walk across the room to his son and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, we must leave. _We _must leave, your mother and I. You cannot come, we will not subject you to this..._life" _Lucius spit out the last word with deep contempt. Draco could only stare at him in disbelief. "This is not what we wanted for you. I don't want you to live the rest of your days in hiding. Listen to me, listen! Do not come looking for us boy, do you hear me? _Do not come searching for us_. It will be best for us all if you don't know where we are - the ministry cannot use veritaserum against you this way. They will try to interrogate you into finding out where we are, but once they use the veritaserum, they will know there's no use in trying to pry you for information any longer. Draco...I'm sorry. For everything. For all of it. I wish I could fix it but I can't and there's no way to now, so know and understand that I am sorry for the hell I've put us all through." Draco's eyes widened at his father's apology. He had never expected one, ever, and to recieve one now, after all the things he'd done...

"You don't need to forgive me just now, Draco. You don't even need to forgive me at all. It is simply something you need to hear. Do you understand me? Draco? _Draco_!" Lucius shook Draco by the shoulders, but Draco was in shock. First everything before, the war, the deaths, the Dark Lord...and then leaving the only home he knew to stay _here _with his family...only to be left alone. He stared at his father without really seeing him - he heard his words but could not respond. He simply stood there. Lucius stared back at Draco, directly in the eyes, a tangible fear mirrored in both of their faces. Then his mother came and stood beside him, and he broke the look he and his father shared to turn to her.

"Draco...I..You know how much I love you." She placed one hand on his cheek, and used her other to smooth his already perfect hair. The wards alarm grew louder - the ministry was getting closer. She gave him a light kiss on both his cheeks and, clasping his fathers hand, they dissapparted.

Draco stood there for and whispered for them to come back, but of course they never heard him. For the first time in his life he was truly alone, and he stood there in the living room of their small hide-away, a hide-away no more, and tried to take everything in. When the ministry came mere minutes later, that was how they found him.

Several months later, Draco was in Diagon Alley trying to keep a low profile as he looked for a new book to add to his vast collection, when he over heard a conversation between the storekeeper and a customer discussing the sudden dissapearance of several of the past Death Eaters - Pansy's parents included. Draco stood there in the shop and realized that he hadn't given any thought at all to Parkinson, someone he'd considered a close enough friend during their days at Hogwarts. He hadn't wondered where she was or how she was doing, and to hear this news now he began to ask himself these things. Further eavesdropping told him that her parents had been missing for a few weeks now, that they had tried to find out where they were through Pansy, but they never got anywhere, so they had let her go. `According to the storekeeper, Pansy was last seen on her way to her home a few days ago, just a town over from Draco's, escorted by the ministry officials. Draco paid for his book and decided that now would be the time to pay a visit to a fellow Slytherin.

When Draco apparated outside Pansy's home, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Her house, once grand and immaculate, was now run-down and near dilapidated. It seemed as if no one had lived here for at least a year, and Draco suddenly felt worried for his old friend. He did an elaborate hand movement and spoken spell to allow himself entrance to her land, and started his walk along the long driveway to the main entrance of her home. He was unsure of what to do next - knock? Ring the bell? Leave his courtesies behind and walk right in? The spell allowed him entrance, so he could just let himself in, but he stood there and weighed out his options. In the end he chose to walk in and find her, politeness be damned, and after searching her house from top to bottom he found her in the basement. He had never been down there before, and he could understand why now - the basment was damp and unfinished, and a small pool of leaking water in the far right corner could be visible from the stairs Draco stood on. She was lying on a transfigured bed, blankly staring in the darkness.

"Pansy?" Draco called out to her quietly, slowly moving closer. "It's Draco. What are you-"

"I know perfectly well who you are Draco, I'm not _daft_." Pansy said in a raspy voice.

"Well you look very...off. So excuse me for trying to take the gentle approach. What are you _doing_ down here? Why does your house look like...well like _this._" Draco held his hands out and looked around him to emphasize his point.

Pansy glared at him. "My parents have been gone for several weeks now, we haven't been at our house for nearly a _year, _my brother is missing, I've been interrogated within an inch of my life and all you want to know is _why my fucking house looks like this? _Fucking _go_ away Draco. I cannot believe it took you this long to even _bother_ to come here. _Fuck_ you and your friendship." and with that she turned her attention back into staring into the darkness.

Draco stared at her. "What the fuck? I'm trying to find out what happened, if _you _hadn't noticed I'd been gone for quite a while too, and I've been hiding myself away ever since, so I had no fucking clue about anything going on with you..."

"So it only took you until _now _to decide to come look for me? What you randomly decided several months after you got back that 'Hey, I haven't seen Pansy for a while, maybe I'll see if she's still alive.' ? Asshole."

"Look I'll admit that yes, I only just now decided to come by, " Pansy snorted at that "But it was only because I was dealing with my own shit, okay? Don't fucking act like that! The fact is, I'm here now, so do you want some help or not? We can go looking for your brother, but you need to get up and out of this basement first. We can even go looking for your parents-" Draco offered.

"I don't want to go looking for my fucking..._parents_" Pansy said scathingly. "I'm glad they're gone. " When Draco gave her a long look. Pansy said "Look, we were friends throughout school yes, but you don't know very much about my family Draco. You don't know anything at all. I'm glad they're gone and it'll make my life if they never come back, and I'll leave it at that.

Draco didn't say anything. It was her business, and with the way she was acting right now, he really couldn't care less about her issues with her parents.

"Fine. I don't really...okay. We can look for your brother then."

"I already _told _you, I do not want your _fucking_ help. Get out of my house, Draco. Or what's left of it anyway. And to answer you're question, the _reason_ my house is like this is because when my parents left, they took everything with them - including all the money. So there are no house elves to upkeep the house, and no money to upkeep...me. Now go." Pansy hissed, and turned over to face the wall so as to end anymore conversation.

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. The way she was going on, he didn't know why he still felt the need to bother with her. But here he was, still. He felt like he had to help her - he didn't like the guilt she'd given him when he'd reminded her just how long it took to remember about her after all of this. He wanted it out and away from him, and the only way that could happen was if he gave her something she wanted. Settled the score. So he'd help her find her brother, whether she wanted him to or not. He walked over to the bed and shoved Pansy over to face him. He yanked her up into a sitting position, leaned in close and said "Look, you little...I **am** going to help you, do you understand? I'll help you find your brother, and you can even come and stay with me for a little while, because you _can't _stay in this shithole. You've got no food, no money as you pointed out, and _no one else_. You can't help yourself this time Pansy, and I know how much you **love** to do things on your own, but it won't work. You need my help. It's either come with me or stay down here and fucking rot. Your choice."

He released her and stood up, crossing his arms and waiting while she sat there and glared at him for a long moment. Then she stood up, and Draco thought he had won, but instead she leaned in close to him, just as he'd done to her, smirked and said in her darkest voice "Then I guess I'll just have to fucking rot in here, now won't I?"

And that was how this began. As Pansy tried to collect herself and carefully get up from her tumble on the sidewalk, refusing to take off those ridiculous heels, Draco could do nothing. He mainly wanted to help because he felt guilty for not coming to her sooner, but he also wanted to help because...he had never seen Pansy like this. A new cut was growing red and pulsing on her kneecap, blood forcing it's way through her new found wound, and Draco could only stare. The Pansy he knew always looked nothing less than perfect - it was what drew him to her in the first place. She never took anyone's bullshit, she was cunning and sarcastic, and her words cut deep -just like him. Had things not turned out the way they did, he would've gotten with her, but here they were. Her on the sidewalk looking like a horrible mess of the girl he knew, and him standing there looking on, a shadow of the Draco he knew as well.

"Draco, " Pansy suddenly said desperately. She had fallen on the sidewalk again, and Draco didn't even have it in him to laugh at her. It was just sad. "Please, " she begged. "Just _leave me be. _Please...please..." she whispered to herself now, on the verge of tears. She didn't want him to see her like this, Draco knew. She didn't want his eyes on her as her life crumbled around her - as she fell defeated to the ground. He gave in this time, and left her there.

As he walked to the closest disappartion point, Draco began to wonder if this was how he looked to everyone else - just a broken version of himself. He wondered when things would change for the both of them. His biggest fear now was her. He was afraid more than anything that one day he might not find the will to wake up in the mornings - that he might stumble into the basment of the manor and never find the strength to walk back out again. That someday someone might pity him, the same way Draco pitied Pansy - and that someone might view Draco as only a sad shadow of the person he once was.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: **All characters, spells, magical places, creatures etc. belong to JK Rowling. Her brain works in wonderful and mysteries ways, and I could never come up with anything half as brilliant as her creations. Harry's POV.

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><p>"…So try to get up off your arse and come visit us, Harry. We miss you and I'm <em>sick<em> of having conversations with your message machine. Harry? I _know_ you're there; you had better not delete this message like all the others…"

As Harry slowly awoke, sun light from the window shining down upon his face, he occasionally focused on bits of Hermione's long and persistent message – the fourth one this week. He groaned and stretched, pushing a hand through his messy hair, and sat up in bed.

"…When's the last time we've seen you? _Months _that's how long! Nearly a whole year and no visits. If you didn't _grace_ us with your phone calls every once in a while, I'd have thought you'd disappeared, or _died _even. Harry you simply can't go on like this, come and talk to us, or talk to Ron at the very least, he probably misses you more than me if we're being honest. Just – "the machine cut her off, a repetitive beep replacing her words, letting Harry know his machine was full.

Harry sighed, thinking over her words. He didn't know what to say to them anymore. At first it was a pure desire to distance himself as far from everyone as possible, to deal with his thoughts and his guilt and his ever going grief after the war. But now it was more than that. It felt as if, not only did he not want to come back to them just yet; it was as if he physically couldn't. The thought of surrounding himself around them all, his happy and contented friends, while he sat there depressed and lost, was something he didn't want to put himself through. He couldn't live around them anymore. Not while things were still so hard. The mere thought of seeing Luna again, after everything…

Harry grimaced and stood up. He crossed the bedroom and headed for the bathroom. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, and tried to put a comb through his hair, only to have it look nearly exactly the same as it had when he just rolled out of bed. He stood there for a moment in front of the mirror and took in his face. It looked to Harry as if he had aged 10 years since he'd decided to be on his own. His eyes were still a brilliant emerald, contacts replacing his well worn glasses. But he looked pale and sickly, almost diseased, and his mouth seemed permanently turned downward. He was skinnier, and appeared frail and delicate, as if a gentle breeze could easily knock him down.

While Harry stood there in front of the sink mirror, he began to think to himself. Hermione was getting more urgent and persistent in her messages – the usual one or two messages every few weeks had now escalated to four a week and it wasn't going to stop there if he knew anything about Hermione. She would keep calling and calling, asking him to visit, to meet them for coffee, or go for a walk. Hermione would keep dropping hints about this new restaurant in Diagon Alley she wanted to go to with everyone, or about how badly she wanted to visit Hogsmeade – anything that could possibly peak Harry's interest enough. Harry gave a small chuckle to himself at her tactics. It was obvious that she didn't want to push too hard, but still make it clear that they missed him. He guessed she was hoping that he might suddenly wake up one day and want his old life back – that it would be an epiphany of some sort, hitting him full in the face through one of her messages. That he would one day come home and everything would be back to normal. But that wasn't how it worked, and although logically Hermione knew this, she still had to hope.

Harry made a decision then. If only to help get her off his back, he would visit them today. He would grit his teeth and steel his emotions for a few hours and try to reassure both her and Ron that he was fine. Then maybe he could have some peace. Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror and gave himself a curt nod - he would play happy for today. He made large strides to his small makeshift dresser and pulled out a pair a trousers and a dark green shirt. He did a scourgify spell on a pair of his old loafers and quickly apparated to Ottery St. Catchpole before he changed his mind.

When Harry appeared just outside Ron and Hermione's land, he couldn't help but smile. Everything was exactly the same, a year later. After the war, Molly and Arthur Weasley gave Ron and Hermione an engagement gift – the land that surrounded the Weasley house. They decided they wanted to start off somewhere new, but not too far away, an easy half-hours drive from their old home. Arthur had assumed Molly wanted a new house, but she declared that she wanted to take the Weasley house full of memories with them. Moving an entire house proved difficult, but after Arthur made some inquiries to the Ministry about how it can be done, a few months later their house had come with them (shrunk down to a handheld size) to a new area just north of St. Catchpole. After the land was cleared, Ron and Hermione began to build their dream home. It was simple and understated cottage just large enough for two – Ron wanted it so that when they had children, they could magically add additional wings to their house, just like his parents had.

As Harry walked across the tall grass and slowly headed towards the cottage, he began to get nervous. Harry wasn't quite sure what the day would bring, and as he stood before their front door now, nearly a year after he'd last visited, he wondered if their friendship was the same as he'd left it.

Harry didn't need to knock; it was as if Hermione sensed him standing there on the other side of the door. She flung it open wide and simply stared at Harry, and took him in from head to toe. Then she looked him in the eyes and gave him a warm smile.

"You could do with some food, but you look well enough." She said happily, and gave him a warm embrace.

After a moment, she let go and held Harry at arm's length, and Harry looked her over just as she'd done to him. Hermione appeared near exactly the same as she had during their last days at Hogwarts, but with slight differences. Her bushy had been tamed to mere curls, now cut just above her shoulders. She was wearing light wash jeans and a plain white t-shirt, and her eyes shone in happiness.

Harry looked past her into the house to find Ron rushing down the stairs, swiftly walking across the living room and towards the front door. He quickly plucked Hermione up and out of the way, a loud shriek of surprise escaping her and a confused expression on her face. Ron set her down just behind him and proceeded to pick Harry up in a tight hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him. Harry lightly patted Ron on the back, feeling at a loss. When his air became constricted and it began to seem as if Ron wasn't about to put Harry down anytime soon, he poked Ron on his shoulder and wheezed,

"Can't – breathe! Ron…_Ron_!" Ron only laughed and released Harry, setting him down in the doorway, grinning down at him. Harry gave him a small smile.

He noticed that Ron – if possible – grew even taller, and also gained quite a few muscles. Whatever baby-fat left in his face was gone now, and his chin became more pronounced. His hair grew longer, slightly past his shoulders. As Harry took him in he was trying to remember who Ron reminded him of, and with a shock he realized Ron looked near identical to his brother, Bill Weasley. Ron also wore a white t-shirt, as if to match Hermione's, but he opted for dark jeans instead. "We've missed you mate." Ron exclaimed, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders as she stepped forward. "Get in here!" Ron laughed, and Hermione added jokingly, "Quick, before he changes his mind – let's get him, lock the door and keep him here for weeks!"

The couple walked Harry through the small open area and into the living room. They all sat down in unison – Harry on one couch and Ron and Hermione opposite to him on the loveseat. They sat in silence for several minutes, not sure of what to say to one another. Eventually, Ron was the first to break the silence.

"Erm…so….have you….?" He wasn't sure where to start. The silence engulfed his words as they awkwardly smiled at each other. Ron decided to give up his original question and opted for another one instead. He looked down at the table sitting between the couch and the loveseat, picked up a small bowl and said, "D'you want some Jammy Dodgers?"

"Um, not right now, thanks." Harry said quietly, feeling more and more out of place by the second. "Tea?" Ron offered, looking at Harry hopefully. "Sure, yes, some tea would be great." Harry said quickly, giving Ron and Hermione a weak smile. He took a second look at Hermione - he noticed that Hermione was not grinning anymore over his surprise visit; her smile was still there, but it was much smaller now. It also felt as if Hermione had been watching him carefully, so Harry quickly looked away, and began shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"So, Harry, how are…things? I'm assuming you've gotten my messages?" Hermione asked sweetly. Harry thought he'd heard her mutter something that sounded a lot like 'even if you didn't call me back after any of them.'

"Yes, thanks. I've been meaning to call but things have been busy. Things are good. They're great. Brilliant." Harry lied, looking Hermione between the eyes for fear she'd see the truth if he looked straight at her.

Hermione eyed him carefully. "I see."

She sighed, and decided to get straight to the point. "Harry, when are you coming home? This is getting out of hand."

Harry frowned at her. "Out of _hand?_" he felt a bit like he was a disobedient teenager getting a lecture. "Nothing is getting out of hand, Hermione. I told you I needed some time. So that's what I'm doing - giving myself some time to…" he wasn't sure how to finish his sentence. He didn't know how to explain to them, to make them understand how he felt…

"- Time to what? To _what, _Harry? Finish what you were saying, because Ron and I have been curious as to what exactly you're giving yourself _time _to do!" That layer of politeness that Harry had seen earlier was near completely gone from Hermione's face now. She looked frazzled and exasperated – the same way she did when she didn't have the answer to a question she deeply wanted answered.

"Look, I'm here now, aren't I?" Harry offered eagerly. "I'm _here_, visiting like you've been begging me to do for the past year, _aren't I_? I'm _fine _Hermione, so stop –"

"Exactly!" Hermione interrupted. Ron had come back from the kitchen with tea for the three of them, and gingerly sat down beside Hermione again as he set the steaming cups down on the table. "You're here _now_,but you'll be gone again in a few hours' time! Alone just like you want; ignoring us, ignoring my calls. What did we ever do to you Harry, that it now takes me _begging_ you, as you put it, to stop by and see us?" Hermione shouted.

"Why can't I have some time to myself, Hermione? I never said you'd done anything, so don't put words in my mouth! All I want is some time to think, okay? To gather my thoughts and…." _And to move on, _Harry thought. But he didn't dare say the words aloud. "Can we please just enjoy today? I'm here now, as you pointed out, so let's just take advantage of it!" Harry knew he said the wrong words as soon as they'd left his mouth. Hermione's face turned from angry to livid. She abruptly stood up, her mouth poised for choice words. Ron stood up with her, the tea now long forgotten. He placed a hand on her shoulder in an effort to calm her, but she side-stepped him, his arm now out of reach. Her eyes never left Harry's face, and he braced himself for what she was about to say next.

"I SHOULDN'T NEED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF _ANYTHING_, HARRY. HOW COULD YOU – WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT! HOW CAN I ENJOY TODAY, ENJOY _ANY_ DAY WHEN I'M – _WE'RE – _SITTING HERE WORRYING ABOUT YOU? WE'RE YOUR FRIENDS HARRY. WE'RE WITH YOU THROUGH EVERYTHING, OR DON'T YOU REMEMBER?" her voice was dying out with all her screaming, and it became cracked and strained as tears came to her eyes. "IF NOT FOR ME THEN FOR – f-for Ron, Harry. If you didn't want to speak to me then…at least _Ron…_" Hermione looked away from Harry then, and walked away from the sitting area, heading towards the kitchen when she suddenly stopped. She turned to face them again, and whatever tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes were nearly gone. "I hope whatever you need time for Harry," she said in a low voice, "Is worth our friendship. I barely know who you are anymore. I never thought that would happen. Why did you even come here Harry, if you're still not finished whatever _soul-search_ you're on –"

Harry became agitated after she screamed at him, guilty after he saw her eyes water with tears. But now, he was down-right furious with her. He stood up as well, and briskly walked over to where she stood, mere feet away from her now. "You know what, Hermione? I knew you were angry with me, but I had no idea you felt this way. If I'm ruining our friendship so much," Harry said, his voice menacing, "Then maybe you should stop calling. Maybe you should stop bothering me. Since you can't _enjoy_ your days and all, when they're spent worrying about me. So there. Stop worrying. Stop calling. Clearly I'm burdening you with all my problems. I had hoped I might be able to come here today and be civil and, God-forbid, happy with the both of you for today, but I was asking too much wasn't I? Let's do each other a favor then, right?" He was glaring at her now, angry at her words and his regret in coming here in the first place.

Hermione only stared at him, a blank expression on her face. The silence stretched for what seemed an eternity. Then Hermione took a step back from him. She looked him straight in the eyes, and simply said "Alright, Harry," in such a quiet voice that at first Harry wasn't sure if she'd said anything at all. She walked away from them then, and headed up the stairs and out of sight.

Harry pulled a hand through his hair and turned to look at Ron. He'd since resumed sitting, and looked annoyed by the whole conversation between Hermione and Harry. He stood up and walked through the back of the house, towards the garden. Harry followed him, hoping things weren't as strained between Ron and himself as they are now with Hermione.

Outside, sunset was falling over the horizon line, and the grass swayed gently with the breeze. The summer storms had died down now, and the sounds of the insects and birds could be heard. Harry stopped a few feet behind Ron, afraid to take a step closer.

"Hermione's right you know. Things shouldn't be like this." Ron said quietly, head bowed low as if he were speaking to the ground instead of to Harry.

Harry stepped forward. "She's right, but she just…needs to give me more time. I'm just not ready to deal with everything yet, alright?" He began playing with the cuffs of his shirt, his nerves getting to him. Ron only nodded to Harry's words, and gave no response to them. They stood there in silence for what seemed like hours, until Hermione suddenly burst through the screen door. She stopped, realizing that Harry was still there, and took long strides towards them, her head held high. She stopped beside Ron, making sure to turn her back to Harry.

"The hospital called, they need me to come in for a few hours." Hermione said gently, placing a hand on Ron's arm. Ron looked upset over something. "Right now?" he asked, a frown etched on his face. "It's getting dark, shouldn't they call somebody else, I mean they know you're-"

"I don't mind it. I sort of need to get my mind off of things, keep busy, what with…everything." Her head turned ever-so-slightly in Harry's direction, he saw. But she kept her eyes focused on Ron, silently pleading with him to let her go off. After a short look at each other he sighed, and she knew she had won. "Fine, it's fine. But if anything happens just give them some excuse and come straight home." He warned her. She nodded and gave him a quick peck on the lips, then turned and walked ahead of them to an apparation point. A small crack shifted the air and then she was gone. Not so much of a word to Harry, or even a glance. Harry looked at Ron questioningly. "What do you mean, why would they need to call someone else? What would happen?"

Ron sighed and was silent for a few moments. Then finally he turned and looked at Harry. "We've been wanting you to visit for a while now, but more so these past few weeks. We were worried about you, but we also had some news, and we didn't want to tell you over the phone, so Hermione insisted on trying to at least get you to come out with us if you wouldn't stop by." He paused, preparing to give his announcement. Harry waited impatiently, his fingers now fraying the cloth on his cuff as he pulled at loose strands.

"She's pregnant. We're expecting." Ron said in a rush, happy to have the words out of him. "We didn't want you to find out like this, but what with um…tonight, and all of that…well, to be honest, I'm not sure when we'll be seeing you again." Harry looked away then, the guilt churning his insides. "She's about two months along now. I know she wouldn't like me telling you without her here, but given the circumstances…well, it's better you find out here and now rather than far along into the pregnancy. We're expecting twins." Ron smiled, and Harry knew he was thinking of his brothers, Fred and George. Ron took another step forward, his smile nearly gone now. "Harry… I know you've been going through something mate, and I understand that you can't really explain it all to us. But, Hermione's heart is in the right place, you know that. Just, think about it, right? At least call."

Harry looked up at Ron, and realized just how much he'd changed. "Who knew you'd be the more level-headed one in your relationship with Hermione." Harry joked. "She's still the more level-headed one. She just misses you, that's all." Ron said seriously. Harry turned to face the open fields that made up St. Catchpole, nodding to Ron's words.

"I'd better go, there's somewhere I need to be." Harry lied, turning his head to look at Ron. "Alright, I'll tell Hermione-"

"Oh, that's okay, um..I'll give her a call? Or…maybe I'll see you." Harry said evenly. Both Ron and Harry knew that was a lie, but Ron smiled anyway and clapped Harry on the back. He watched as Harry walked towards the same spot Hermione apparated from just moments earlier, and waved as Harry turned on the spot and felt that familiar tug around his waist.

Harry re-appeared on a street corner in central London. He frowned, wondering what went wrong during the apparition. He was supposed to arrive at the street corner of his flat, but instead he ended up here. He suddenly realized that he had been thinking not of home during his apparition, but of Hermione and the hospital. "I must've ended up somewhere around St. Mungos," Harry whispered to himself. But instead of apparating to his ideal destination, he instead took this as an opportunity to think. He started in the direction he was facing, and began a slow walk while he turned things over in his mind.

_Stupid, stupid! _He thought. _These past few weeks I'd been thinking of myself, and this whole time they just wanted to give me the good news. Today could've been a clean slate, but instead I acted like a complete ass. Now I've made things more difficult than they needed to be, and I don't even know where mine and Hermione's friendship stands now. Ron was right about everything, but I still feel like….like nothing can be fixed. As if everything we worked for has been for nothing. Until I figure out a way to stop this, to stop _acting _like this….until I can find a way to explain to them, to show them how much the war affected me, I shouldn't be around them. _"I shouldn't be around anyone." Harry said aloud. "If this is how much I screw things up over one visit, I surely need more time to myself. I just wish Hermione would understand, that they'd _both _understand…" Harry bumped into a passer-by going in the opposite direction. "Sorry." He muttered, and looked up to see where his walk had taken him.

The sky had gone pitch-black between his talk with Ron and his walk through London. He was standing on the sidewalk as cars sped past him, the street-lamps above illuminating his path. He continued his walk, and turned left with the sidewalk, a small group of women blocking his path. He began walking around them when one girl stopped directly in front of him. She placed a hand on his chest as he tried to move away from her. "Hi," she said in what she thought was an appealing tone. "Do you want to go somewhere to talk?" she looked up at him with large eyes.

Harry looked down at her and could only feel pity. Her hair and makeup was a mess, fishnet stockings torn in more than one place, a thin dress covering the rest of her. Tall stilettos covered her feet, but she teetered this way and that as she tried to steady herself in them. Harry shook his head slightly and tried again to continue his walk, but again she stopped in his path.

"Are you sure? We can go somewhere quiet." She offered, snaking another hand around his waist. Harry quickly took her hands off of him and insisted, "Look, I said _no_ alright? So I need to be off now, excuse me." He started off again, but she blocked his path for a third time, and her face turned desperate. "I mean, are you _positive _you don't want to spend time alone? We could do whatever you like...?" Harry was getting annoyed now – how many times did he have to say no before she understood? He looked her directly in the eye and was about to tell her – yet again – to move away from him…when he realized she looked familiar. He began to stare at her, trying to place her face, and then he suddenly remembered.

"Are you…_Pansy?" _ He said incredulously. He watched as her face went from desperate to scared, and the tables turned then. It was her trying to weave away from him as he clutched her arms and looked her over for a second time. "Let go of me, who are you, how did you know that? Let _go!" _Pansy became frantic, trying to wrench her arms away from his grasp, and Harry realized she still didn't know who he was. He dragged her over to an alleyway and finally released her. "Pansy…_Pansy! _It's me, it's…Harry." She stopped and stared at him. "Harry Potter?" she asked, and he nodded at her. She composed herself and sneered at him. "Well I'll be damned, Harry bloody Potter. Why are you here – walking the streets looking for a good time I bet." She looked him over and snorted.

"Obviously not, since I basically had to claw myself away from _you._ Persistent, aren't you?" he shot back at her. "Do you know how ridiculous you look? How on earth did you end up…like _this_?" Harry asked her. He wasn't even sure why he cared, but this small surprise reunion was enough to get his mind off his own troubles, so he leaned against the brick wall behind him and waited patiently for an answer.

Pansy stared at him for a long time, and then walked over to him. She stood beside him and sighed.

"I suppose it's bad to keep this all bottled up, no one here knows my real name - we've all got these disgusting nicknames our customers know us by. Such is the life of a..._prostitute._" She spat out the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. She looked at him and smirked. "Alright, Potter, since you're here, I'll fill you in on everything. Interested?" He slowly nodded, his eyes searching hers.

And there in the dark alley, Pansy Parkinson began to tell her story to none other than Harry Potter.

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><p>Author's Note: So sorry it took me so long to get this up, I've been busy with school and this chapter took forever to type up. I promise the next one won't take nearly as long to post :)<p> 


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